A day in the life of India

“… A little corruption. A little bribery. I negotiate with the world 24/7. So why not an extra 5 minutes of sleep. He told himself and buried his head under the pillow. And so began another day in the life of an Indian…

His mobile phone alarm rang and he awoke with a new found energy, as if a spring were screwed into his spine, while he was asleep. His eyes wide open and alert. His mind sprung to life like a computer with a Pentium 5 processor. He was ready.

He is Mohammad Hasrat Sheikh, a short little man who stays in Mira road, in the suburbs of Mumbai. His rented house is just a 3 minute walk from the station. The station connects him to his work place in Churchgate, via the fastest known medium in the whole of India, the local train. The spine of Mumbai.

He preferred walking to the station every morning for precisely 2 reasons. One – no auto rickshaw took him there as it was not a lamba bhada and two - he had no other option. But today, the first auto rickshaw driver agreed to go take him to the station as he walked out of his house.

It’s a lucky day. Hasrat thought.

But it was that unlucky day when his first class pass for the local train expires. Meaning he had to stand in the queue to get it renewed and take all the third class treatment in his stride jus because no station has a clear mention that the queue for a first class pass renewal is separate. The board at the counter just read ‘Q1’ (with 1 in roman number) and needless to say no one got that. Everyone always thought Hasrat was not following the queue and shouted at him.

Hasrat was surprised to see there was no queue at the counter. There were only a couple of guys standing behind the sign Q2. As soon as Hasrat reached the counter he announced to both of them, “First class”. To his surprise both of them smiled and made way for him. Within minutes he was standing at platform no. 2 for his fast train.

It was indeed a lucky day.

9.24 – Hasrat couldn’t believe his eyes. The same old ‘Churchgate Fast’ came to a halt and was almost empty. The crowd at the station, rushed inside as usual but even Hasrat managed to get a seat. A window seat at that. Within minutes the train began to leave the station, and a strong January breeze hit Hasrat in the face. He was lost in mindless and senseless thoughts for some time and when he came back to reality, the display in the compartment’s LED read Goregaon. He took out the morning issue of the Times and read in silence.

Metro rail to start soon in Mumbai.

After all, electricity bills won’t jump.

Mumbai can become Shanghai.

The people around, were the same. The gang of 8 people who always got the window seats and played cards, the college kid with a bag sprung across his shoulders, the balding, over-weight man in a sweat stained shirt, fast asleep, standing…as usual. Everything was normal.

But the gang was not playing cards today, the kid’s bag seemed lighter, the balding man was wide awake and the sense of urgency and tension inside the compartment was a lot more eased than normal. The people were talking silently and the murmur seemed very pleasing to the ear. The breeze was friendly and caressing the faces of everyone it could. The stress seemed lost. The rhythmic sound of the train made music to the ears. The soft sound of paper against the breeze added to the melody.

Hasrat got down at the Churchgate station and started walking in sync with the crowd. The station seemed very clean. The subway footpath also seemed clean. Awaiting the dream to end, Hasrat asked the cab driver to take him to his office (which no cabbies agreed on a normal day). The cab driver smiled and said yes.

This time the alarm seemed louder. The spring in the spine did not seem to have worked. And the Pentium 5 processor seemed to have had a virus attack.

But Hasrat woke up with the hope in his eyes. A hope that brought a smile to his winter-dry lips.

It was a dream.

With the smile still refusing to fade from his face, Hasrat left from his house.

He walked towards the auto with the same hope and asked the driver to take him to the station. The driver smiled and said yes.

Hasrat sat in the auto, awaiting what will happen next and smiling at the sweet memory of his dream. He remembered what his mom always used to tell him as a kid.

The dreams come true. The morning dreams come true.